


My Last Bath

by IridescentLugia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lemon, People fucking, eroitca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IridescentLugia/pseuds/IridescentLugia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming to the cold land of the north was always going to be a strange experience for a lady of the Reach like Margery Tyrell, but she quickly learns that there's a strange warmth to be found in snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Last Bath

Margaery

_‘Ours isn’t to question your father’s wisdom.’_ Her mother’s parting advice sounded in her head as the wheels of the carriage rolled through the grey slush in front of Winterfell’s gate.

_‘Grandmother’s wisdom you mean?’_ Margaery had responded. She loved her grandmother, and modelled herself upon her in many ways, but she’d be lying if she said she agreed with the thorn of House Tyrell all of time. Now was one such time, the man that she was supposed to marry was waiting behind these castle walls. Castle may have been too charitable a word to describe Winterfell, it was a behemoth of a fortress that much was true, sturdy and vast as anything Margaery had ever seen. But it was utterly artless, a slab of grey stone, devoid of charm, pleasure, or warmth. _‘Much like the people inhabiting it.’_ She feared.

She wasn’t being entirely fair if she was honest, she’d been told that Lady Sansa took far more after her Tully mother than she did her Stark father, and in fact she’d received a letter from the elder Stark girl saying how excited she was to meet Margaery and asking that she bring some dresses or instruments from the south. The rest of the family however, were reputed to be as northern and hard as the Wall itself. Eddard Stark, best friend of the king, was well known in Highgarden as a man of honour, solemnity, and dignity. A ‘frightful bore’, in her grandmother’s words. Still, it was marginally better than being sent to Sunspear, a city of sand and snakes, or Kings Landing, a city of snakes and snakes.

The gates of Winterfell were open. A band of Lord Eddard’s soldiers, led by his ward Theon Greyjoy, and the head of the household guard Ser Jory Cassel had greeted them a few miles south and now rode ahead of them, heralding their arrival. Both were handsome young men. Greyjoy in particular had the sort of physique that men in the south longed for, a life of austere food, extensive physical labour, and martial training had its benefits Margaery supposed.

As the carriage slowed to a halt, Margaery peered out of the window, stood in front of two dozen or so soldiers were the Stark family. Eddard was just as she’d imagined he would be, tall, withered and stern, he was like a statue given flesh, and Margaery couldn’t help but wonder if making the man laugh might cause his head to shatter into a million pieces. She giggled quietly at the thought and vowed to herself to do just that.

Theon Greyjoy approached the carriage and opened the door, “My lord, I introduce Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden.” He said to Lord Eddard.

Margaery stepped out of the carriage into the cold forecourt of Winterfell. The northern air was colder than she could have ever imagined, and Margaery felt her nipples hardening against her light yellow dress, it would have been horribly embarrassing were it not for the fact that everyone was staring at her face, for now.

She curtseyed to the Stark family, she’d been practicing every day for the last two months and she thought it fair to say that she’d made an art of it, when she extended her arm it looked ever so formal, but exposed her cleavage in such a way that any man in front of her would surely be bewitched. After all, it was her duty to marry Robb Stark, and seducing him would make it so much easier. If Theon Greyjoy’s face was any indication, her techniques were certainly potent.

“My Lord Stark, it is so good to meet you at last. Margaery said, extending her hand to him.

“The pleasure’s all mine my Lady. And please, call me Ned.” He said, in a voice far softer than Margaery had expected, as he kissed her hand.

One by one she was introduced to Catlyn, Brandon, Sansa, Arya, Rickon, and Theon. Finally, the two half-brothers stood side by side Jon and, her betrothed, Robb. The paintings she had seen of Robb did not him justice, while the young wolf’s leather armour and fur cloak was hardly the sort of fashionable clothing that girls at home would fawn over, he was certainly and impressive specimen. His short hair was the colour of fine brandy at sunset, and his well-trimmed beard accentuated the ruggedly handsome angles of his face. He was far taller than most men that Margaery had ever seen before, in fact Robb was a huge man no matter what part you looked at, he had a broad chest and a thick neck, and his arms were positively rippling with muscles. But while he did appear to have the hardened exterior of his father, his mother’s eyes shone through, lending Robb a softer, kinder look about him. Jon, on the other hand, she had seen no paintings of. The bastard of Winterfell was hardly a homely man either, he had an altogether lither look about him than Robb. A lighter frame with thinner shoulders and less obvious muscles but nary a bit of fat on him, hair the colour of obsidian curled down to his shoulders, providing a frame to a soft face that would have looked more at home on a troubled artist than on a young noble like himself. _‘Bastard, not a noble.’_ Margaery reminded herself, Jon wasn’t Ned’s trueborn son and it would be a massive faux-pas to address him as if he were one.

As Jon kissed her hand, Margaery felt butterflies in her stomach. She smiled politely as the young man rose to his feet, but she couldn’t help but imagine her legs wrapped around his face, urging him to kiss something other than her hand. She was so lost in the thought that it wasn’t until one of her ladies in waiting gave her a gentle prod in the ribs that she moved on and offered her hand out to Robb. The young wolf knelt down and kissed her on the hand rather stiffly and dispassionately, as if he were being asked to kiss the boot of a butcher rather than the hand of his future wife. Once he arose to his feet the formalities were over and Margaery was ushered inside.

\--

She lay in a large steel bath, soaking in the beautifully warm water. She’d been given a room near the top of one of Winterfell’s towers, and from her bath she could see through the window down into the courtyard were the men of the stark household sparred with the soldiers. Jon and Robb were some of the best swordsmen Margaery had ever seen, matched only by her brother Loras, and beaten only by Ser Jamie Lannister and Lord Randyll Tarly. Robb wielded a huge greatsword in both arms, with every swipe he sent a man flying backwards, knocking their shields from their grasp. Jon on the other hand was a dancer on the field of war, he ducked underneath one of Theon Greyjoy’s swipes and hit him in the arm with his practice blade, causing Greyjoy to drop his sword and swear loudly. As a pair the two half-brothers utterly dominated the battlefield, disarming and defeating every soldier that stepped up, until finally it was just the two of them left.

Margaery lolled back in the bath, letting the hot, soapy, water run over her skin. She watched as the two traded blows back and forth, Jon ducking and weaving his way out of harms reach every time, and Robb effortlessly parrying Jon’s attacks. As Margaery ran the soap over her firm, full, breasts she realised just how aroused she had become watching the display. Slowly she let one of her hands drift down to the slit between her thighs. As she watched the brothers tangle, their grunts echoing through the courtyard as their steel collided again and again, she began to slowly play with herself, teasing at first, but soon plunging her fingers inside as she imagined the two competing on her, taking turns roughly fucking her tight pussy until she declared a victor. As Robb stumbled backwards onto the ground, she squeezed one of her nipples, imagining Jon pinning her to the bed and teasing her with his mouth until she begged him to fuck her. When Robb swept Jon’s legs out and threw him forwards she plunged her fingers into herself even faster, the water of her bath splashing out over the sides and onto the floor, her face contorting in pleasure as she imagined the young wolf throwing her to the floor and pounding her in front of the fire. As Jon rolled to the side and caught Robb with a hard kick to the ribs, Margaery’s lip trembled, her hot sex dripping as she thrust it into the air, her whole body convulsing. Finally, Robb rolled to the side, dodging Jon’s blow, and threw himself into his brother like a spear, knocking the curly haired boy to the ground. Margaery plunged her fingers into her wet pussy as deeply as she could, as Jon threw up his hands in surrender Margaery bit her lip, her body writhing in pleasure as she orgasmed silently. After what seemed like an eternity she pulled herself out of the bath, her sex juices still dripping from her fingers as she dried off.

\--

The feast that the Starks had thrown for her was truly something to see, while it lacked the variety that banquets in Highgarden were famous for, there was something to be said for refined simplicity. Every dish on the table had been perfected by repetition, and Margaery had never tasted such succulent beef in her life. To her right, Robb sat staring into a pint of ale. All the passion that the young wolf had shown on the battlefield seemed to elude him at the dinner table. He had said nary a word to her all evening other than offering her a glass of wine which she had accepted eagerly. Infact his attention seemed to be utterly diverted throughout the evening, he spoke primarily to Theon Greyjoy, and Jory Cassel, but his eyes rarely seemed to leave the entrance to the hall, as if he were anticipating an arrival.

At the far end of the hall Jon Snow sat amongst some of the other lesser-born residents of Winterfell, the young lady from house Poole seemed quite enamoured with him, though she was quickly called over to sit with Lady Sansa. He cut somewhat of a lonely figure, Margaery couldn’t help but think, he was too privileged to have anything much in common with the lowborn soldiers of Winterfell, and not highborn enough to sit with his kin. It was no surprise to her then, when Snow peeled off partway through the evening, a flagon of ale in his hand.

Lord Eddard proved to be far more amenable than she had previously anticipated and she soon learnt that the old Northman had quite the penchant for bawdy humour, as only made sense really when she thought about how close friends he was with King Robert. One particular story about Lord Eddard walking into the King’s room to find him tied to a bed post naked with a red priestess holding a branding iron just above the King’s chest left Margaery, as well as most of the table, in hysterics, especially when Lord Eddard added that he’d ushered the red lady away while saying, “I don’t think you’ve found Azor-Azhi my lady.”

Sansa also showed herself to be far more entertaining than Margaery had dared hope, reciting quite the beautiful poem about a boy without legs being given wings, and after a few glasses of wine dancing with her. Margaery giggled as a tipsy Sansa span her around by the hand, before bowing over-dramatically, mocking some of the dancers they’d seen earlier.

By the time she stumbled up to her bedchambers Margaery was utterly content, and as the days went by her earlier fears of Winterfell had been totally assuaged. Ned was a truly courteous host and a incredibly charming man on top of that, Catlyn had welcomed her with open arms and never once made her feel like an outsider, even Arya who had at first tried her hardest to avoid Margaery had come to see her as a friend, bonding as they’d sat on stone walls of the castle watching the boy’s spar. All of her fears had be assuaged, except one.

\--

It had been nearly a month since she had arrived at Winterfell, and though it now felt like home to her, she would not truly be welcome until she was married to Robb, and on that front there had been little change since she’d arrived. Long romantic dinners and walks through the Godswood had done little to spur Robb to action, let alone proposal. Dresses that had bewitched men in the south and dances that had inspired bards from all over the seven kingdoms to write epics in the hopes of laying with Margaery seemed to only amuse Robb, she even began to find herself wondering if they boy was simply not interested in women at all. Though even Loras, who himself had eyes only for men, had resolved himself to do his duty and marry whatever woman grandmother decided upon for him.

It was as she began to dress herself one morning that the thought struck her to try an altogether different tract to win the Stark heir’s attention. Rather than the black lace dress she had intended to wear that day she instead tried on one of the gifts her grandmother had brought her before she left Highgarden. A long leather jacket, the colour of blood on the autumn leaves, with a silver brooch of a wolf’s head upon the background of a rose stuck in the lapel. It fit her beautifully, as it should have after all Lady Ollena spared no expense on tailoring, perfectly accentuating her ample curves. She paired it with a tight black chemise, and a pair of cream leather trousers that tucked neatly into her sturdy fur boots.

She made her way down to Winterfell’s courtyard, as she waltzed through the square she saw faces that so recently had seemed strange and hostile, that were now friendly and familiar, there was Lyanna the baker’s wife, Maester Lewin, Septa Mordane, Avalry the kennel-master, and half a dozen more that were getting on with their tasks. She couldn’t see Robb anywhere however. As she made her way across the courtyard she spotted Jon leading a horse back into the stables, “Jon!” She called out, striding over to him confidently, she’d only spoken to the young man once or twice since she’d arrived at Winterfell but she felt so uncomfortable calling him ‘Snow’.

“Lady Tyrell, how can I help you?” He said, he wore a light cream shirt with the top three buttons undone, exposing his toned chest, and a sword slung over his shoulder.

“Please, call me Margaery. Lady Tyrell makes me sound far too drab.” She said, a hint of flirtation in her voice. She twirled around playfully, showing off her outfit.

Jon smiled. Margaery could help but notice him stealing a glance at her plump arse as she span, she could almost hear his rough northern voice telling her just how drab she wasn’t.

“I’m looking for Robb, have you seen him?” She asked.

“Aye, he’s training with Bran by the old tower, you know the way?” He said, hitching the steed to the post.

“Vaguely, but it’s such a long way. I’ll surely die of boredom without some good company.” She said coyly, “Might I trouble you?” She said, unabashedly fluttering her eyes at the curly haired man.

“Well, suppose there’s no harm in it.” Jon said.

As they walked through the grounds of the castle Margaery asked Jon what his plans were.

“How do you mean?” He replied.

“Well you know, your brother is going to marry me and we’ll rule here in Winterfell, provided I can actually get him to marry me of course.” She laughed before continuing, “Sansa and Arya will marry and leave Winterfell behind, and I’m sure Bran and Rickon will do the same, and Theon will eventually return to Pyke. What will you do?”

Jon thought for a moment, the stern expression on his face as he thought demonstrated aptly that he was very much a Stark, if only in blood and not name. “I’ve been thinking about joining the Night’s Watch.” He said at last.

Margaery laughed for a moment, “And swear off women just so you can stand on the Wall, waving your sword at wildlings?” She giggled and gave Jon a light punch on the arm, “Come on Jon, I’m serious.”

He laughed back, “I mean it.” He nodded, looking northwards, “Like you said I can’t live here forever, and it’s not like I’d have any inheritance to be giving up, not like my uncle Benjen did.”

“Yeah, but do you really want to give up women? Go chaste and never have sex again?” Margaery laughed, “No, no, no. You’ll have to do something else, maybe you could be master at arms in Winterfell? Take over from Ser Roderick?” She said.

“I’d still be here, in Robb’s shadow.” Jon said, “Besides I wouldn’t be going chaste, I’m already there.”

Margaery looked at him quizzically, her eyebrow so raised that she thought it might peel off, “No, no way? Really? You? How haven’t you?” She was utterly shocked, while lady’s like herself were supposed to remain virgins until their wedding night, an effort that Margaery hadn’t been entirely successful in truth be told, men were free to screw around to their hearts content, bastards especially so.

Jon shrugged his shoulders, “I just haven’t done it.” He said, they were nearly at the tower now and the faint sound of steel clashing was getting louder with every step they took.

“But you’ve been offered right?” She asked, “I mean I assumed you’d at least have had a roll with one of the kitchen maids.”

“I’ve not been offered, no.” Jon said, his face turning slightly red.

“You mean to tell me that of all the girls in this castle that have fucked Theon Greyjoy, not one has tried to get you in bed?”

“Not one.” Jon laughed, “Sounds quite bad when you put it that way.”

“It does.” Margaery laughed, “I didn’t think girls in the north were so blind.” _‘That is abusrd.’_ She thought to herself. _‘I should force them to sit and watch you sparring, they’d have their legs spread before you could say ‘winter is coming’.’_ “I tell you what Jon, why don’t you go to the tavern with one of my ladies in waiting? Tanya. She’s perfect, she’s got beautiful blonde hair, big breasts.” She said, squeezing her own for emphasis, once again she noticed Jon staring at her lustfully, his eyes transfixed upon her chest. “Have some drinks with her and see if you still feel like taking the black in the morning.” She then leant in close to him and whispered into his ear, “I’ll even let you borrow my bath.” She giggled.

Jon smiled a bashful sort of smile, “I’ll think about it.” He chuckled.

Finally, they arrived at the tower, Robb was clad in his full leather armour once again, he was watching from the side as Roderick Cassel sparred with Bran. The old master at arms was clearly the wrong side of fifty, but even then the young Stark boy was no match for him. Roderick deliberately handicapped himself, tying his arm behind his back and eschewing a shield so that Bran could have a fighting chance.

“He’s got a long way to go before he can beat you.” Margaery said, sliding up next to Robb, leaning on him slightly.

“Aye, he does.” Robb chuckled, “But we all started somewhere.” He looked at Margaery, “You look nice today.” It was a strained compliment, but a compliment none the less.

“Thank you my lord. I think it’s more practical than my usual attire… I was watching some of your sparring and was hoping you might teach me the basics of… swordplay.” She said, a mischievous edge to the last word.

“I suppose I could.” He said, handing her a practice blade. “Try a basic stance.”

She took it and held it out in front her, trying to mimic Robb’s stance as best she could. Robb looked at her attempt and let out a small chuckle, “Not quite.” He took her arm and pushed it upwards and to the right so that the blade now blocked her face at an angle.

“That’s better.” He said, “Roderick! What do you think of the Lady Margaery’s stance?”

Roderick Cassel looked over at them, “It’s weak I’d say, feet are too far apart.”

Robb looked at her for a second, his eyes scanned up and down her body, if he found her in anyway attractive he sure was doing a damn good job hiding it. He tapped her feet with the side of his sword and she brought her legs in closer together. “Good, now give it a swing.” He said.

Margaery swung the sword with both hands, it was sloppy, which was in part deliberate and in part simply a result of Margaery having never swung a sword before in her life. Robb shook his head, at the very least she was amusing him, though it had to be said the Margaery was more used to seducing men than amusing them.

“Oh I’m hopeless. Robb, won’t you take me through it, step by step?” She asked, shaking her arms and hips, urging him to take a grip of her and swing the blade with her. Honestly if Margaery had to be any more obvious about her flirtation she’d be forced to pin Robb down and ride him in the practice yard for all to see.

Robb approached with a wry smile on his face and for a moment Margaery dared hope that he’d finally succumbed to her advances and would guide her through some sparring before she took him to her chambers for a different sort of sparring, these hopes were dashed however when Robb instead stood a foot away from her and demonstrated the moves slowly with his own sword. It was poetic really, if asking Robb to swing a sword with her was Margaery’s way of inviting him to sleep with her, then showing her how to swing the sword on her own was Robb’s way of telling her to go fuck herself.

She tried once more, failing yet again before looking over to Jon. The young man had been watching her from afar as she’d trained. She saw him now staring at her, his eyes undressing her. She felt a wave of warmth wash down over her stomach and into her groin. “Jon?” She called out. “Perhaps you could help me?”

Jon nodded and hopped up to his feet, Robb stepped aside and watched as Jon stood behind Margaery, resting his chin on her shoulder and taking her arms in his hands.

“You’re too small to fight like Robb, you’re better off keeping your sword in one hand and dodging out of the way, like this.” He took her hand and pulled her to the side, she moved with him effortlessly, soon they were sliding and dodging around the courtyard, Margaery moved as if she were dancing at a summer-ball back in Highgarden. Jon then helped her lunge forward, planting the sword in the practice dummy’s chest. “Good job.” Jon said, his mouth pressed against her neck.

“I’m a quick learner.” Margaery smiled, she slowly moved her hips backwards subtly rubbing against Jon’s crotch, she felt his trousers harden as rubbed against him. “Perhaps you could spar with me?” She asked, “Don’t go easy on me though.” She smiled.

Jon laughed, “I didn’t think southern ladies liked it rough.”

“Thought you didn’t know about that sort of stuff.” Margaery whispered flirtatiously.

“Oh I know a lot about sparring my lady.” Jon said.

Margaery laughed as she untangled herself from Jon, she threw her jacket over to Robb, making sure to push her breasts out as she took off the heavy garment, “Oh you know nothing Jon Snow.”

She swung her blade at the young man who effortlessly jumped out of the way, he swatted at her sword casually, and Margaery almost lost her grip on the blade. She spun around squaring up with the young warrior, she stepped forwards again and this time lunged for Jon, he deflected her strike and grabbed hold of her, sweeping her legs out and catching her just inches from the ground. She pulled backwards with all of her weight knocking Jon off balance. As they crumpled to the ground she rolled on top him, sitting on top of his crotch.

“I win.” She said.

“I yield.” Jon laughed.

“Thank you for indulging me Jon. I’d gladly train with you again, I think I might be more suited to your style of sparring than Robb’s.”

She all but purred the last sentence last few words. It was a challenge, not just to Jon, but to Robb as well. She looked at him as if to say, ‘unless you do your duty, I’ll get your brother to do it instead.

\--

She sat in her room, lounging in a large arm chair, the candles casting their soft yellow shine across her naked skin, the pale moonlight illuminating her pert pink nipples. She was at her wits ends trying to win Robb’s affections, sparring had done nothing, dancing had done nothing, even drinking with him had done nothing, she decided that there was but one course of action left. She took a sip of wine for courage and pulled on a thin lace robe.

_‘If my personality cannot entice him then I shall simply have to use my body. I’ll knock on his door and throw this robe out of the window, demand that he does his duty and fucks me or back out of the union and send me back to Highgarden. My time is not his to waste.’_

She strode out of the door as confidently as a near naked woman could in a castle as cold as Winterfell. She made her way up the stairs quietly, apprehension built in her as she walked, she knew that this would either mark the end of her stay in the north, or a new beginning for it.

She was just a few stairs away from Robb’s door when she heard shouting.

“You’re abandoning me!” The voice boomed out.

“No. I’ll never abandon you. But I cannot stay in Winterfell, there’s nothing for me here.” Jon’s voice replied calmly.

“No. I forbid it, you will take over as Master of arms here.” Robb replied.

“And what? Have the men whisper behind my back that I only got the position for being father’s bastard?! I can have a purpose in the watch Robb!”

“You won’t have a purpose, Jon, you’ll just have duties. I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

“And what would you know about duty Robb?” She heard Jon sigh loudly through the door, “You have one of the most beautiful and wonderful women in the seven kingdoms lusting after you, and all that is asked of you is that you marry her. That is your only duty. And you shirk it, keeping her around when we both know you will never marry her, and why?! Because you want to marry some whore you got pregnant. Do you even love her Robb?”

“Love has nothing to do with it. I defiled her honour, my duty is to marry her and give her child my name, anything less would be a cruelty.”

Margaery stared at the door sadly, she felt a fool for thinking she could win Robb’s affections with such a brazen display of lust. Love, shame, duty, or honour, whatever Robb’s reasons for rejecting her were, naked persistence would do nothing to erode them.

“A cruelty?” Jon said, his voice betrayed a confused pain, “Is that what you see me as? A victim of father’s cruelty?”

“Jon. I didn’t…”

She heard a glass shatter against a wall. Quietly sobbing, Margaery made her way back down to her room. She had failed her one task, and it had been failed before she even arrived. Worse than just her wounded pride, she now knew that she would have to leave the north, and with that she’d have to leave the Starks. Never again would she sit with Arya and trade stories about horse-riding, nor would she sit by the fire with Sansa and read poems of gallantry while dining on lemon cakes, Rickon would grow into a strong and handsome warrior like his brother, and she’d barely recognise him the next time they met. And worst of all, Jon was going to leave no matter what. In another wold where she wasn’t the daughter of Mace Tyrell she’d have taken Jon Snow as her husband with glee, instead she had no choice but to watch the brother that truly appreciated her, that wanted her, that filled her with more than just lust, leave her behind for a life of celibacy and solitude.

_‘Fate is a mistress crueller than all others.’_ Margaery reflected as she began to heat up her bath. She poured herself another glass of wine as she took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

_‘_ Dear Grandmother, _’_ The quill scratched Margaery’s thoughts into beautiful cursive.

I hope this letter finds you well, I am afraid that I bring bad news from the north, Robb Stark had become enamoured with a kitchen maid some time prior to my arrival, and she is now carrying his child. In order to preserve the lady’s honour, Robb has pledged to marry her. This, obviously, is quite the snare for our betrothal. I intend to return to Highgarden on the morrow. Kind regards, your ever loving Granddaughter

Margaery Tyrell.

She took off her signet ring, dipped it in the wax of the candle burning in her room and pressed it on the letter. With a heavy heart Margaery got up from her chair and walked over to the door to her room, only to be interrupted by a sharp knock.

She opened the door to find Jon staring at her, mouth agape. She followed his gaze down to her chest before remembering that the lace dress she was wearing didn’t exactly do much to hide her assets from display.

“Can I help you Jon?” She said sweetly.

“I uh. I… I’ve forgotten what I came to say.” He said, stammering awkwardly.

“Well you’d might as well come in then. It’s rather cold tonight.” She said, inviting him into the room.

He gave some very week protests before joining her inside. He looked over at the bath Margaery had been preparing, “My lady, I apologise if I, uh, interrupted you.” He said, sitting down on the chair by her desk.

“This?” She said, pointing at the tub. “Oh it’s no concern, besides… I did promise you that you could use my bath.” She tapped the side of the tub lightly, beckoning him into the water before fetching the bottle of wine she had started on and taking two glasses.

“I uh, I shouldn’t really.”

“No Jon, I insist. It will be the last warm bath you have ever again most likely.” She said sorrowfully, pouring two glasses of wine.

“You heard that then?” He it was more as statement than a question, Jon must have known they’d hardly been quiet.

“I did.” She nodded sadly. She brought the glasses of wine over to Jon and tapped him on the back, beckoning for him to get off her chair. He stood up, a little shocked perhaps at the dismissal, until Margaery handed him a glass of wine and pointed at the tub. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, pulling off his shirt. Jon’s body was a work of art. Margaery’s initial impression of the young man as lithe was accurate in a sense, but it couldn’t even begin to describe what a beautifully sculpted body Jon had, his muscles were thick and well defined but never bulbous or overgrown. His chest was tight and thin, but utterly devoid of fat, what muscle there was on his torso was rock solid, his abs were so firm Margaery thought she would be able to grate cheese on it if she so desired. Though grating cheese wasn’t exactly the first desire that sprung to Margaery’s mind as she gazed upon him. She wanted Jon every night for the rest of her life. She wanted to grip his hair as the fucked on the flowery balconies of Highgarden. She wanted to lick the sweat from his chest as they made love in the mountains of Dorn, the sun beating down on upon them as they quenched the thirst they’d built with the finest of wines. She wanted to ride him in a tiny cabin on a ship caught in a gale off the coast of Pyke, their grunts and wails drowned out by the cracks of lightning above them. Jon turned his back to her and quickly pulled his pants down, cruelly denying her a glimpse at his manhood. Jon sighed as he sank into the sweltering water, a blissful smile spread across his lips as he submerged his gorgeous black locks.

Jon took the glass of wine from Margaery’s hand and smiled, he knocked the glass against Margaery’s, “To my last warm bath.” He said, as they knocked back the fruity vintage Margaery so loved. A warmth ran down her neck in tandem with the drink, and the wine that her sorrows had swum in just a few moments earlier now told her to seize the moment.

“And to my last bath in Winterfell.” She said, casting the robe to one side. Jon stared in disbelief as Margaery climbed into the bath, her naked flesh stroking him as she entered the water.

“I…I… I shouldn’t.” Jon said.

Margaery kissed him lightly on the lips, Jon’s façade of resistance melted away almost immediately.

“Jon, please… Shut up about what you shouldn’t do, and just do it.” She said, planting a kiss on his chest.

Jon smiled and wrapped his arm around Margaery’s back, sweeping her up in a powerful kiss. Their tongues wrapped around each other, pulling them closer together as they pawed at each other’s bodies, longing in every touch. He massaged her breasts, teasing her nipple carefully with his fingers while she slowly stroked his thick cock, running her thumb over the head. As their lips broke apart Jon wrapped an arm under Margaery’s back, pulling her into him, their soaked flesh pressing against each other.  He moved his mouth down to her neck and nibbled slightly, she moaned at the mixture of pleasure and pain, and when Jon stopped, she simply pushed his head back down to her neck, urging him to bite harder.

Soon he had moved his attentive mouth down to her nipples, he tickled the rim with his tongue at first, Margaery bit down on her lip as Jon’s tongue teased her. When he nibbled on her pert pink buds Margaery damn near lost her mind, she blushed bright red when she heard the soft sensual moan she let out, if anybody happened to walk past at that moment, they’d surely know what Margaery was up to. Margaery dug her hands into Jon’s back, her fingers gripping his flesh, urging him to tease her more. He did just that, biting down on one of her nipples so hard that Margaery bucked her hips up, spraying water everywhere, and exposing her sopping pussy to Jon. He smiled and began to slide his fingers into Margaery’s tight twat, playing with her clit, rubbing it slowly at first, before plunging his fingers deeper into her pussy. Margaery howled out in pleasure, gasping for breath as Jon toyed with her. She licked her own finger and began to play with her clit while Jon’s fingers delved deeper into her.

“Jon! Oh gods you’re good.” Her hand drifted down from her clit to Jon’s rigid cock, she stroked it softly, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the juicy pink head. She needed it.

They changed positions, giggling at the awkwardness of the transition, so that Jon was sat against the edge of the bronze tub, his crotch hovering out of the water, and Margaery lay on her stomach, her head resting in Jon’s lap. Margaery let her tongue slowly taste Jon’s cock. The head was slick with precum, it tasted salty as she rubbed it against her lips. She slowly began to suck on his rigid member, sliding it in and out of her mouth. Jon groaned in a low husky voice as he began to grind his pelvis into Margaery’s mouth, his trimmed black pubic hair rising up to greet her. Margaery slid Jon’s cock out of her mouth and bit one of his pubes playfully, then planting wet kisses on his balls and shaft as she made her way back up to his cock, leaving read lipstick smudges on her lover’s manhood.

Jon slowly tangled Margaery’s hair around his fingers as she toyed with his cock, licking at it as if it were a honeyed biscuit before plunging it deep into her mouth. Precum mixed with saliva in Margaery’s mouth as she worked Jon’s shaft into her mouth, it was an unappealing taste, but in the sheer lust of the moment Margaery wanted nothing more than to drink it forever. She felt Jon’s hip quivering against her face, he was surely close to climax.

“Not yet.” She said, pulling her mouth away. She climbed out of the bath and walked towards the bed, swaying her plump yet firm arse as she did so. She heard the soft splatter of water on the floor and soon enough Jon was with her again in moments, gripping her hips from behind and nibbling her earlobes, pressing her against one of the posters of her bed. She turned to him and kissed him slowly pulling him down into the bed with her.

Their dripping bodies drenched the sheets as they writhed in passionate pleasure. She wailed loudly as he thrust his cock into her dripping snatch. He pulled on her hair as their bodies rocked against each other, slowly at first but then faster and faster. The soft thud of their flesh pounding together, the frenzied smacking of their lips on one another, his low groans as his cock bottomed out in her soft velvety walls, the quiet gurgle as he pulled his slick head free of her pussy, and her songful cries as he pushed it back inside of her again.

She rolled him onto his back and rode him like a steed, bouncing on his meaty rod, his hands kneading her breasts, sculpting her into a goddess of passion and love as their unbridled

fucking brought her to a new realm of ecstasy. She cried out with joy as she reached a climax, calling out Jon’s name as loudly as she could, she licked her fingers and frantically rubbed her clit as Jon pounded her as hard as he could, his balls slapping against her arse. She groaned softly, almost whimpering as she embraced Jon, who sat up and held her in his lap, kissing her deeply while slowly thrusting inside of her.

She looked into his big blue eyes and saw her reflection, she wanted nothing more than for Jon to spill his seed inside her, she wanted him to feel as complete as he’d made her feel. But it was a foolish desire, she’d betrayed too much just in this one night with him, if he fathered her child she would have to abandon everything.

“I can’t let you.” She said quietly, kissing Jon’s lips.

He nodded silently, he knew it would be asking too much of her. Slowly he withdrew from her, and as soon as he did so Margaery was on him again, taking him in her mouth, determined to drain his hot juices from his cock. He groaned softly as she licked his tip, she savoured every single taste she got of his cock, taking in all she could, forcing it down her neck until she thought she’d be sick, coming up for air, and then taking him in her mouth again. Slowly Jon thrust into her mouth, fucking her full red lips until his knees buckled, his hips shook and he spilt his pearly seed on Margaery’s face.

She giggled playfully as the thick white cum poured onto her face, glazing her like one of the deserts she’d eaten that evening. She wiped her fingers against her face and licked it, sampling Jon’s seed, salty but utterly delicious to her. She licked her fingers clean before starting on Jon’s cock, drinking whatever little seed lingered on the tip before using it to pick up the heavy load on her face. She savoured every last drop of her lover’s cum, swallowing it with gleeful abandon, before they soaked again in the tub, cleaning themselves of their mess. After another glass of wine, they returned to Margaery’s bed where they soon found each other wrapped up in an embrace once again, fucking twice more until they fell asleep in each other’s arms dreaming of a life they could never have.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @IridescentLugia


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